


Sweet and Heady

by scullyphile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, drunk, reunited, wifegate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyphile/pseuds/scullyphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder is drinking and finds he has a visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet and Heady

 

_Listen to me… I cannot see clearly._  
_Isn’t that she coming to me, nearly here?_  
_Lilac wine is sweet and heady. Where’s my love?_  
_Lilac wine, I feel unsteady. Where’s my love?_  
_Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?_  
_Isn’t that she, or am I just going crazy, dear?_

–Lilac Wine, Jeff Buckley

————————————————————-

In the backyard, under a clump of trees that looked as worn out as he felt, stood an old tool shed. Two slipper-clad feet dragged across the dirt floor, pacing from one end to the other. There was no heat in the tiny structure, and his breath came out frozen. Several years ago he had put a workbench in the shed. He was going to take up woodworking, but it turned out it he wasn’t particularly good at it.

Scully had been kind enough to put his little table next to the couch, but it was wobbly and not suitable for a lamp or anything else fragile. Several matchbooks were crammed under the one too-short leg, useful in case of an emergency, he told himself. He had read somewhere once that a three-legged table was the most stable kind, but, of course, they all needed to be the same length or that stability was lost.

Earlier that day, he had left a long message on Scully’s voicemail about the Sea Peoples, urging her to research the topic and get back to him. What if they had been aliens? It was mostly a joke message, a way of reaching out to her on this day without saying what was actually on his mind. He really had spent the afternoon reading up on the Sea Peoples, however, so that seemed like a suitable topic, neutral. But Mulder had found over the years that he tended not to be a good judge of what was neutral.

She hadn’t called back, as he had expected. It was too soon for that; she had a lot of things she needed to work through. Another swig of whiskey from the bottle, and Mulder shuffled to the center of the shed. There was a click as he tugged the string and the lone light bulb went out. The darkness was deeper than he had expected. The sun must have set longer ago than he’d thought. He stood still for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust. In case it might help, he took another pull from the bottle.

Sufficiently adjusted, he scuffed out into the yard toward the house. Halfway to the porch he noticed a light turn on inside. There was no doubt in his mind that it was her, but he was so distrustful of his own mind and so set in his cautious ways that he approached the door without making a sound. When he peered in the small window next to the door he saw her sitting at the table. In front of her sat a cupcake with a single candle burning in the center of it.

A sad smile crossed her face when she saw him standing there in his ratty brown robe with a bottle of whiskey dangling as he gripped it by the neck. He was shivering.

“Can I have a drink?” she asked, as she stood and walked to his side. She didn’t wait for him to reply, prying the bottle away from him and taking a long drink. His mouth was open, but no sounds would come out. Was she really standing in front of him, or was he dreaming? How much of the bottle was left? He would have checked it if he could have taken his eyes off of her.

Scully kissed him on the cheek. That felt real. He felt a little wobbly himself, and took two steps toward the table, steadying himself by gripping the back of one of the chairs with his hand. She leaned over the table and blew out the candle.

“Happy anniversary,” she said. November 19th. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward their bedroom. His bedroom. The liquid sloshed as she took another drink from the bottle. He knew better than to ask her if she was coming home. He dared not utter a word, lest she disappear in a wisp of smoke like the one rising behind them.


End file.
